


i've got the strangest feeling this isn't our first time around

by thrives



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: F/M, angst angst angst, basically kevin and thea are in denial, some smut too bc why not, some talk abt reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-04-13 11:39:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14111565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thrives/pseuds/thrives
Summary: He's been taught his whole life not to believe in any of that spiritual bullshit, that his triumphs are of his own making, that his fucking past selves aren't magically watching over him from some two-bit sham of a heaven—but, he thinks—she might make him a believer.





	i've got the strangest feeling this isn't our first time around

 

The start of their relationship isn't particularly auspicious—she jerks him off in the bathroom at some shitty dive bar, her nails scraping against his cock as he grits out half-formed syllables into her mouth— _fuck_  and  _oh god_ and  _shit_. When he comes, she dusts off her hands on the sides of her tight little skirt and tells him primly, "Work on your vocabulary."

"I'm sorry," he retorts indignantly, because it's, like, one in the morning, and he really should be sleeping the alcohol off instead of receiving handjobs from girls with dubious morals, "didn't realize you needed a thesis paper."

" _I_ don't," she says slowly. "Maybe your girlfriend does, though."

"Don't have one, sweetheart."

He avoids her eyes as he fumbles with his belt buckle—and whoever invented belt buckles has a storm coming, because  _fuck_ is it hard to get his pants back on when there's a judgmental girl with soulful eyes staring him down. Kevin thinks it's all a bit of a shame, really, because her eyes are dark and liquid and absurdly  _sensual,_  and god knows he's partial to pretty girls with big eyes.

"I know who you are," she says. There's a sharpness to her voice now, a sobriety. "Though you'd have a bigger dick."

"That's nice," he replies, a little stung. "Sorry I didn't live up to your expectations."

"Yeah," she says, and he notices that she's pretty, like, really _fucking_ pretty, with a pert nose and broad cheekbones and freckles, and she's standing there, all pretty and disheveled and reproachful, and honestly  _what the fuck_ is he supposed to do? So he cups her face with one hand and strokes her cheek with his thumb and says, "Let's fuck."

She says, "Hilarious." Her eyes are gleaming and her mouth is twitching and she looks like she might laugh. Kevin blinks at her. He's seriously drunk and she's seriously cute. "No," he slurs into her mouth, hands dropping to her waist, fingering the zipper of her skirt. "Let's _fuck_. Like, properly." She runs her hands down his shoulders and presses them to his chest, then guides his hand to the waistband of her thong.

"Okay," she says, imitating him. "Let's fuck.  _Like,_ properly."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Her name is Thea Muldani and she plays for the _fucking_ Ravens.

She is brilliant—can match him wit for wit, can recite Proust and Faulkner and Shakespeare by heart, knows the ins and outs of Celtic mythology—brilliant and beautiful and aggravating and fiercely competitive. Sex with her is not a team effort. She plays to win, but he isn't the world's greatest Exy player for nothing. It's nothing short of a miracle that they haven't been found out—he can be found stumbling out of her dorm with several hickeys most weekends, and they both take to wearing scarves—"It's _fashion_ ," he insists when Nicky interrogates him for the thirtieth time that week. When the novelty of sex wears off, their pseudo-relationship becomes almost _domestic_. He finds himself buying her coffee, finds himself knowing her coffee order by heart. Sometimes they don't even fuck. Sometimes she answers the door in sweats and he ends up reading to her from his history textbook. She steals his clothes and pointedly avoids his Fox gear, never wears orange even though it looks so fucking good against her dark skin.

She's impossible to read, moody, petulant. She picks fights.

Kevin has always prided himself on being able to read people, but Thea remains an enigma. He thinks maybe that's why he likes her so much, why they haven't self-destructed in a fit of slamming doors and unread texts by now. Because he knows everything about her—that she's always cold, that she  _hates_ milk, that she is majoring in English and wants to be a writer, that she likes it rough and hard, likes him to pull her hair and whisper dirty things into her cunt—and still, he knows nothing about her.

The thing is, he  _wants_ to know her. It's kind of a terrifying thought.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"We're not dating," she says into his mouth. He rips her bra off in one swift movement—"That was expensive," she says drily—and sucks on the sweet spot above her collarbones, then breathes, "God, no." She whines a little as he fondles her breast, knuckles skimming over her nipples as his other hand finds its way to her cunt, and _fuck_ , she's warm and wet and closes around his fingers almost immediately.

"Kevin," she says, straddling him so that her breasts are near his mouth, hands fisted through his hair, "this is just between us."

"Yeah, yeah," he grunts, fingers working her hard and fast. She goes all loose when he touches her, so different from her usual rigidity, and he won't lie, he fucking loves it. "Oh, yeah, baby," he says. "You like it when I fuck you? You like it when I'm inside you? _Thea_."

Her lips find his lips. She kisses him hungrily, greedy and voluptuous. He closes his eyes as she slides down to palm his cock, the tip of her tongue dancing over the head. He comes on the sheets and grabs her legs, pinning them above his head. His fingermarks leave marks down her thighs when he eats her out; she tastes like salt and skin and something divine.

"Kevin," she says when they're fucking _properly_ , his name barely a whisper on her tongue, his cock deep inside her, "we just fuck off and on, alright?"

"Alright," and he thrusts deeper, harder, with more force, thumbing her clit. She screams when she comes—he finds it strangely cathartic.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It's a bright, chilly December night and they're lying in his bed when she says, "Do you believe in reincarnation?"

He scoffs. "No."

"So you think we only get one chance? _'You only live once_ ' and all that?" Her eyes are solemn when she looks up at him, legs crossed delicately over his lap. She's wearing his shirt and he can see the faint impression of her nipples against the fabric—they've been fucking on and off the whole day long—"Don't see the point in wearing a bra when you're just going to take it off again," she tells him, and he has to admit she has a point.

"I think reincarnation was invented by lonely people who hate their lives," he says, slightly uncomfortable. Thea is looking at him intently, like this is the most important fucking topic they'll ever discuss. He's never been one to look up to a god, to rely on spirits and ancestors and ancient scriptures—has never wanted to, because it was  _he_ who survived Riko's wrath and the loss of his mother and the torment of the Ravens and the heartbreak of Jean. He's not going to be reborn again. He'd hate that anyway, because it would probably be a better life than this one.

"My grandmother always used to tell me this story," she says. "The first time she met my grandfather, she knew she'd met him before, except—she hadn't, right? And she got this inexplicable feeling, this gut feeling in her soul, that he was her one and only, and she felt this rush of love and warmth and devotion for this guy she'd literally met a second ago, and it was like she'd loved him long before she met him. She told me this whenever I went to visit her, like she was trying to convince me they'd been together in another life or something, I don't know. I think it's sort of beautiful though, the idea that you can be linked to someone through a thousand lifetimes. And there's a human fixation with it too, I mean, look at literature through the centuries. There's always that theme of star-crossed lovers who return to each other, no matter what time period. Romeo and Juliet, I mean, completely overdone but a perfect example of how, I think, we all secretly long for that. A love so strong you feel like you've loved them in your past lives." 

She is radiant and beautiful and looking to him for a response and he doesn't know what to say, never knows how to counter her brilliance. And, he thinks, she's  _right_. Sitting here with her in his room, Thea in his clothes, her kiss on his lips, it feels like—it feels like he's done this for a million years. It feels like he finally knows her, like he's known her all along.

Quietly, he says, "Maybe a thousand years ago, there was another me and another you."

Her eyes are fucking _shining_ when she kisses him. "I hope so," she says. He's been taught his whole life not to believe in any of that spiritual bullshit, that his triumphs are of his own making, that his fucking past selves aren't magically watching over him from some two-bit sham of a heaven—but, he thinks—she might make him a believer.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The Foxes don't know about Thea. He assumes they both don't want anyone finding out about their  _whatever-the-fuck-this-thing-is._

His teammates are mostly dealing with their own shit, anyway. They could care less about what Kevin does in his spare time, and he likes it that way. He's always been the weird kid—respected, sure—but still weird. He's a phenomenal Exy player, but he also happens to be abrasive and arrogant and a _fucking_ history buff; still, for whatever reason, Thea finds him attractive.

Their team is a study in beautiful dysfunction. Neil and Andrew have their own weird thing, consisting mostly of death glares and not-so-secretive blowjobs in the next room; Allison is possibly fucking Renee (but he can never be sure with those two because they have an affliction he has diagnosed as _constant-bedroom-eyes-osis_ );Nicky may or may not have a large and questionably handsome German boyfriend that he sexts in _public_ ; Aaron is dating that pretty, blonde cheerleader against the wishes of his psychotic brother; Dan and Matt are so functional and healthy that he wonders how they have enjoyable sex.

It's after a game—they won, of course—that Thea approaches him and says breezily, "Congratulations, big boy."

He grins at her, almost slips his arm around her waist but catches himself at the last second, says, "Did I live up to your expectations this time?"

"Yes," she concedes, "though a little shaky on that last goal, partner."

"Apologies," Kevin says, and bows his head. She laughs and it's a holy sound. "God, you're cute."

"So," he says.

"So," she echoes, arching a brow. He notices with a start that she's wearing an orange scarf.

"You're wearing Fox colors," he says. "You're wearing _Fox colors_." Without even meaning to, he shakes his head in disbelief and picks her up, spinning her around. "Fucking Fox colors, baby!"

It's only when he hears someone clear their throat that he sets her down abruptly and almost aggressively, so much so that she stumbles back. It's just some passing guy and he turns back to look at her, sure she understands the need for secrecy, but—Thea is making her way across the field, orange scarf on the ground at his feet.

  

 

* * *

 

 

She doesn't answer his calls for a week.

"Jesus, Thea," he says into the phone. "I thought  _you_ were the one who wanted to keep this between us." He runs his hands through his hair and grits his teeth. "We don't—we don't even have a fucking label, alright? We're not dating, I'm not your boyfriend, we just fuck off and on because that's what you said  _you_ wanted."

Silence on her end.

In desperation, he talks to the girls on her hall, calls anyone who might know where she is, realizes somewhere along the line he got a spare set of keys to her dorm, realizes they've been dating for a ludicrously long time and have been in denial about it, finds her lingerie in his drawers, thinks maybe it isn't love but it's something, it's something, and she's all he's got, all he wants, all he _needs_ —Thea is nowhere to be found.

Okay, life without Thea before was one thing. It was manageable. But this—this, _after_ Thea—it fucking sucks.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She bumps into him at the dive bar where they first met.

She looks like a wet dream: slicked-back hair, dark lipstick, short skirt, see-through blouse. Her eyes are clear and dark and he hates how much he's missed them. "Hey," she says delicately, tapping her nails against the counter. Kevin kind of wants to curse or scream but he just nods.

"Okay," she starts, at the same time he opens his mouth. "I was going to say sorry for freaking out on you and ignoring you, but I guess I kind of needed that time away from you, so I'm not going to say sorry."

"Then fuck off," he says.

"Don't you want to hear my reasons?" she says flatly.

"Not particularly, no."

She lets out a laugh that's both resigned and wonderful. "I missed you so fucking much," she sighs. "Honestly. You're such a pain in the ass."

"Thea," he says. "You literally ghosted me for a week."

"Yeah," she whispers. " _Yeah_."

He stands. "I've got to go."

"My underwear is orange," she calls after him.

 "Work on your vocabulary," he tosses over his shoulder. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

He's angry, yeah. He's fucking angry that she thinks she can just waltz back into his arms, and even angrier that she's right.

"Who else would put up with you?" she asks him over the phone. "Who else would put up with _me_?" He says he needs time. She says he has every right to be angry. He snaps. She cries.

She _cries_. She never cries—maybe he should have taken that as a sign.

As it is, they break up. Allison says to him, very carefully, "You and Thea?"

It's ironic, honestly, that everyone finds out just as _whatever-the-fuck-this-is_ ends.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Four months pass.

Kevin misses her— _god_ , does he miss her. He misses her coconut shampoo in his shower, misses her makeup brushes scattered around his sink, misses her neat, color-coded notes stacked on his desk. He misses her brilliant laugh and her brilliant smile and her brilliant mind and her brilliant body. He knows it was stupid to end thing the way they did, and it feels odd, like a part of him is missing, like he's never going to get closure. He knows they'll find each other eventually—he just hopes it doesn't take too long. He thinks he might love the girl; she's got him believing in this spiritual bullshit, after all.

So the days come and go. He bruises and bleeds. Guts and glory. The Foxes blaze their way to the top, and Kevin has never felt more powerful, never felt more in control with his sport. It's hard, the lonely days, the lonelier nights, but—he's a fighter, has always been a fighter—and if he has to battle through a lifetime's worth of obstacles to get to Thea, that's what he'll do. There are things that matter more than a trophy, he's learned. Things he knows deep within he has known before, time after time. Thea taught him many things, but the one thing she didn't deliberately intend to teach him is the one he uses the most: there are people you've lived a dozen lifetimes with. He doesn't sleep around, doesn't date other girls to cope. He waits. He watches.

Kevin Day plays to win.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It's a tired Friday night, and the sky is blurring into neon pixel images from 2007—that's how Kevin knows he's been drinking too much. The world is dizzy and orange and glorious. He sees her from across the room and he's thinking,  _I've lived this moment before._ Then, _maybe this is a dream._ Thea glances up and meets his eyes from across the room (it's like that moment in a fucking rom-com when the music stops and the world slows) and she smiles and beckons him over, and he's thinking,  _I've loved her for quite some time now._ He can almost hear her say,  _It's about time, you gorgeous loser._

He puts his hands on her waist and says, "Hey, Juliet."

She tips her head up and kisses him. "I just got the strangest feeling," she says into his mouth.

"Yeah?" He kisses her, tracing the swell of her cheekbones with one finger. Kisses her again for good measure. The stars are burning above their heads and he feels fucking magical. She _is_ magical.

"What took you so long to come back to me?" she asks tenderly.

"I had to live a couple thousand lives," he says, and leans his forehead against hers. "Tell me about this strangest feeling of yours."

 

 

* * *

 

 

_**fin.** _

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> lmaoooo after two years i return to this fandom with a kevin/thea fic,,,, legendary. i wrote this in two hours in one night so please bear (yes, not bare) with any errors i might have made. feedback is much appreciated!


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